


A Doctor A Day...

by spideywhiteys



Series: what's the procedure? [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: AUs and oneshots, Gen, M/M, Multi, Tumblr Prompt, Various ships, a collection of sidestories, generally sticking to oneshot plots but can maybeeee be persuaded to continue some, random pairings, requested plots/writing, some nsfw content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideywhiteys/pseuds/spideywhiteys
Summary: A Collection of Shorts, One-Shots, Requests and Tumblr Prompts for AUs centering around characters/characterizations from The Medic-Nin's Guide to Casual Revolution. Nothing written here will take place in the Naruto/Canon Universe.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Original Character(s), Hatake Kakashi/Original Male Character(s)
Series: what's the procedure? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842634
Comments: 35
Kudos: 472





	1. ac/dc sounds better in your dad's old car

**Author's Note:**

> TUMBLR REQUEST: @ara-uchihalover.  
> trio prompt: Roadtrip AU. Going on a mountain hike together. “I… I want to be happy with you. Now and in the future…”
> 
> so it's not a mountain but they're technically hiking .. ... . :V

Summer tastes like the salt of sweat beading across his upper lip, like day-old breakfast sandwiches from Starbucks and stale crackers found underneath the front seat. The car is old, old enough to be the focus in some of Hatake Sakumo’s college photos. It rattles threateningly when they pass sixty on the speedometer, and always needs a jumpstart at least four times during winter. Still, there’s something homey about it. The seats are worn and comfortable, and even if it takes more elbow grease than necessary to roll the windows up and down (because they’re manual, amazingly enough) it leaves him with a fuzzy sense of nostalgia. Like an old sweater from elementary school that still fits, or the Pokemon VHS tape he found in his parent’s attic last month.

Toshiro sticks his hand out the passenger seat window and splits the rushing air. His hair is tied in a low hanging bun, saving both him and Kakashi from getting whipped by errant strands. The stretch of highway before them is endless, hardly another car in sight. From the old, slightly cracking speakers blares the seventies pop-infused tones of  _ Best of My Love. _

Kakashi slumps back against the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other pressed to his cheek, elbow propped on the door. His silver hair is flat to his head with the force of the wind, dark sunglasses hanging low on his nose. A pretzel rod hangs loosely from his lips, half-forgotten, all the salt licked off. Despite the heat, he stubbornly dons a pair of black sweats—but at least he’d forgone wearing the usual long-sleeve, trading it for a loose white tee emblazoned with a henohenomoheji. 

When he catches Toshiro looking, his lips quirk into a crooked grin, a dark eye winking impishly. The responding laugh is torn from his throat by the rushing air. Toshiro smothers his grin against his shoulder.

It’s day three of their spontaneous road trip. Kakashi had shown up at Toshiro’s apartment, his dad’s old car parked illegally on the street, college track pants tucked into socks and his stupid lightning blue crocs on. 

_ At 3AM. _ With no warning, as usual. How Kakashi had gotten ahold of Toshiro’s vacation schedule is still a mystery, because he sure as hell hadn’t asked  _ Toshiro _ for it _. _ They’d gotten in the car, two bags of necessities each, and drove. (Or, Kakashi had. Toshiro went right back to sleep. Kakashi might be an insomniac, but Toshiro needs at least eight hours to function like a normal human being.)

Toshiro puts his sock clad feet up on the dash, shorts slipping down to reveal tan lines around his thighs. Kakashi whistles obnoxiously.

“Eyes on the road, perv.” Toshiro wrinkles his freckled nose, rosy eyes dancing with the laughter he stifles. Outside, the sun burns down upon their speedy little car, reflecting off passing trees and traffic lines painted into dark asphalt. He squints against the glare, too comfortable to attempt locating his own pair of sunglasses.

The next track on Sakumo’s mixtape plays, and Kakashi bites down sharply on his pretzel before taking the leftovers and tossing it out his open window. 

The hand at the steering wheel begins to tap out the beat. Kakashi opens his mouth to sing, voice unfairly smooth. “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean—” 

“She was the best damn woman that I had ever seen!” Toshiro throws his head back against the seat, belting out the next few lines of lyrics. Kakashi’s head bobs as the chorus hits, and they sing along in unison. “ _ You _ shook me all night long!”

It makes Toshiro remember the summer they met. Heat waves hanging over cracked streets and the buzz of cicadas thick in his ears. Sweet sixteen, gangly and half-grown, thinking they were more mature than they really were. They made out in a movie theater parking lot on a dare, the taste of too-salty popcorn on their slush-dyed tongues and their friends laughing uproariously around them. 

A decade later and Toshiro doesn’t regret looking Uchiha Shisui in the eye and leaning in to kiss Hatake Kakashi, the taunt of  _ no balls! _ echoing in his ears. He’s sure the other man doesn’t regret it either—

Kakashi flashes a grin that’s all teeth, cheek puckered with a single dimple. He’s still wearing those damn crocs while driving. 

* * *

Utah is twisting canyons and desert; it’s dry heat that makes his throat ache and his white tee damp with sweat. A baseball cap is slung low over his eyes, his previously misplaced sunglasses now carefully worn. He clings to the straps of his backpack and turns his head every which way. Buckskin Gulch is the most beautiful place Toshiro has ever seen. Hot and dusty, sure, but the towering walls of red and the clack of rocks shifting under his feet are mesmerizing. The shade of the gulch is a welcome relief, though the air is still hot enough to make it feel as if he’s baking. 

Kakashi is a few feet ahead, sauntering with a perpetual slouch. His wild silver hair is stubbornly tucked under a green baseball cap he stole from Gai three years back. 

“Watch your step here.” He says over his shoulder. His sleeves are rolled up to his armpits, showing off the bright red tattoo he’d gotten their senior year of high school. 

Toshiro carefully steps over a few wobbly stones, catching up to the taller man. He slips his arm through Kakashi’s, pressing his lips to that bold, swirling tattoo and tasting the salt of sweat. Kakashi’s pale enough that the heat makes his skin flush easily—the telltale signs of sunburn visible on the back of his neck, even after three coats of sunscreen—and at Toshiro’s easy affection the reddish hue across the man’s cheekbones darkens three shades.

“Remember junior year, when the principal caught Genma and Raidou making out in the janitor’s closet?”

“And he told them ‘ _ finally, do you know how painful it was to watch you two’?” _ Kakashi mutters, one hand trailing along the looming, curved wall of crimson. 

“They were so worried about getting shit on for liking guys,” Toshiro muses, “I just thought they were  _ ballsy  _ to get handsy at school, of all places.”

“No one that mattered cared anyway.” Kakashi drawls. “...Why bring it up?”

Toshiro slides his arm down, lightly trailing his fingers across the warm flesh of Kakashi’s wrist. He pushes their fingers together gently, and Kakashi shifts his own to fit them together like it’s as natural as breathing. Even years later, this simple act makes Toshiro dizzy with adoration. Like a kid on his first date, butterflies dance in his gut—his pulse throbs in his neck, echoing a thunderous heartbeat. 

“After that, I realized I was in love with you.”

Kakashi wobbles on a stone, almost losing his balance. His dark sunglasses slip, resting low on his nose. He glances at Toshiro with wide, startled eyes, an awkward cough squeezed from his throat. “Really? That long? I thought it was…”

“The carnival during our freshman year of college?” Toshiro suggests. He remembers the dim, smoky atmosphere of the House of Mirrors. He remembers Kakashi’s hand in his, remembers Kakashi’s body pressing him into the bike rack afterwards, driving them to a fumbling, sloppy completion. The taste of Kakashi’s mouth—cotton candy he’d been reluctant to eat, the salt of a hot dog with too much relish—seared into his tongue. Toshiro had been so mortified that night, having to bike home with wet shorts, cum slipping down his thighs after Kakashi had fled in humiliation and panic.

He’d also been so wonderfully, desperately in love.

Kakashi nods. “Maa...That’s...when I. Realized. Probably.” He grins with his eyes, lips pursed. “Those shorts you wore that night were criminal. I should’a called the cops for public indecency.”

“Funny, from someone who walks around reading porn in public.”

“It’s  _ literature, _ Toshiro.  _ Literature.” _

Toshiro rolls his eyes, unseen under his sunglasses. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Toshiro smacks Kakashi’s arm, far too used to the man’s mocking nature. Loosening their hands, he dances away with his arms spread out for balance. Red dirt and sediment clings to his shoes, kicked up with every exuberant step. He feels so miniscule beside the sloping, towering rock. The natural shapes of the earth warp and twist like an abstract painting, bleeding shades of fiery orange to deep vermillion. 

“I… I want to be happy with you. Now and in the future…” He whispers into the air, his words echoing softly around them. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

The sound of footfalls pauses, stones loosely clattering under Kakashi’s crocs. “Forever, then.” He says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Toshiro flushes, a deep, glowing shade of crimson that has nothing to do with the heat. He spins on his heel with a beaming, bashful smile plastered to his face, kicking up red dust. “Yeah, forever sounds nice.”

Kakashi blinks two dark eyes at him in return, expression unfathomable. “Do you think we could get away with  _ doing it _ right here?”

“Aaaand you ruined the moment.”


	2. amaryllis storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Mythology AU / Standing in the Rain / "I won, because of you. I won, because I have you by my side, cheering me on and driving me." ( from [slimcedees on tumblr!](http://slimcedees.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send in your own requests for Kakashi/Toshiro & Med-Nin AU's on my [tumblr!](http://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)

In the mid-morning rain, the colosseum screams. Crisp white walls, inlaid with marks of the wild hunt, tower over an empty, muddy field. Empty of all life but one, a not-quite-man with the blood of a beast, ichor gold and slick across broken skin. Silver hair gleams, limp and plastered to his head, lightning crackling around and around like a halo. Muggy, damp air presses down on the lungs.

Toshiro swallows it.

Clasps his hands tight before his chest, mouth trembling with relief. On his feet he remains, high above the field and the Lightning Beast who stands in a mockery of a battlefield, knee deep in gore and gold. Toshiro’s throat is sore from yelling, just another cry among the millions in the colosseum. They who stamp their feet, hooves and tails and scream to the Great Heavens for more violence, more blood, more death. 

The Lightning Beast looks up, so distant that it’s impossible to make out where his mismatched eyes fall. But Toshiro knows, can feel that steady gaze on his flesh as clear as the rain that soaks his clothes. It steals his breath, flushes his sun-kissed skin to shades of rose and summer evenings. Vines creep along his legs, twining and blossoming shimmering petals of deep rouge and electric blue. 

“You have fought well, Lightning Beast.” The rumbling voice of the Great Sage booms across the air like cracking thunder, silencing the howls of the crowd. Ringed eyes peer in grandfatherly compassion down at the silver-haired man drenched in rain water and power. “State your prize. Whatever you wish, within the known parameters. As victor, you shall have it.”

Eager eyes press upon the lone man, who walks through the downed monsters he’s gored to approach the walls. Toshiro does not know him. They’d passed on the way in, where Toshiro had been bashfully captivated by smiling eyes and steel-colored hair, wild with static. He’d pressed Sweet William’s into the man’s hands and bounded away, the bundle of small, boldly red-white flowers clashing with the shades of gray and blue the Lightning Beast swathed himself in.

Barring that, Toshiro has never met the man—if he can be called such. A tall, lithe body, two arms and legs; built in a humanoid shape, but radiating the kind of godliness that mortals do not possess. From his soaked, slick hair stands two equally soaked ears befitting a wolf. The mask covering the lower half of his face is intricately carved to replicate the snarl of the very same canine, inlaid with metal and splattered with gold and red blood. He wears his status in the quality of his clothes, the glimmering gems sewn into his overcoat and the beautiful sheen of tempered, ethereal ore his carried weapons are crafted from.

A Hatake. Of the Godly Clan of Wolves that wield lightning as easily as one breathes. 

Very few look upon them in battle and live, as proven by the overwhelming victory displayed below.

“The Summer Druid. The one who bears the crest of the Swamp Lands, with eyes the deepest shade of coral rose.” The Hatake says, his voice smooth as a bubbling brook over sanded stones. A clawed hand rises, nails black and dangerous. Gesturing. At Toshiro. “As my bride.”

A gasp at Toshiro’s side, a hand against his arm. Inoka trembles in excitement but does not speak. Cannot, until the Great Sage completes the Gifting. His own tongue is stayed by his shock, by the blooming of lavender roses across his flesh.

“As you wish.” The Great Sage slams his staff upon the carved white stone, standing from his throne. “You there, Summer Druid, descend to the gates.”

Toshiro jolts, movements slow and uncoordinated. Inoka pushes him, urging and eager, her azure gaze wide with delight. To all, this is an honor. To be chosen as a prize. He dashes from the stands at her insistence, bare feet slapping against the rain-slick stone. His summer robe swirls around him, the deepest of reds to the honey-rose hues of sunset, impervious to the drizzle. (He is of the Swamp Lands, used to the damp.) He takes a breath as he descends the stairs, the rejuvenated cries of the crowd at his back, as are the gazes of all who can make him out. The vines and flowers sink back into his skin as he calms himself. In their place, a tangle of thoughts make their home in his head. 

_ Me? _ Of all the Druids, of all those who attended the Games today.  _ Why me? _

He has many suitors, but all within the scope of his home. As a Druid, he means nothing to Godly Creatures of higher standing. He means nothing to a Hatake Wolf, a beast of legend, of war. These skeptic thoughts do not stop the blossoming hope and curiosity, the delicious weight of caramel-sweet desire seeping into every atom of him.

The stairs end. He finds himself before the gate that separates the viewers from the tunnel leading to the colosseum grounds. From the gloom strides the Hatake, the snarling mask glinting in the flare of torch light. It sends shivers down Toshiro’s spine. Rain slides down his cheeks, wets his cherry red mouth. 

The Lightning Beast steps through the gate, tall and looming. From him rises the metallic scent of blood, twisted with the honey-salt of godly ichor. As Toshiro noted before, one of the man’s eyes is dark as obsidian, while the other blazes red—pinwheels. The eye of the esteemed Uchiha, children of the Great Sage himself.

“I won, because of you. I won, because I have you by my side, cheering me on and driving me.” The Hatake says, voice mellow and kind, the very opposite of his feral appearance. His cheekbones are soft pink, fingers trembling. “I am Hatake Kakashi, of the Storm Lands. May I know your name?”

_ Oh, _ Toshiro thinks,  _ oh. _

Across his freckled cheeks bloom the lavender roses he’d thought he’d gained control of. “Aikawa Toshiro, of the Swamp Lands.”

“Will you accept me as your husband?” Kakashi asks, though he need not. Isn’t expected to, rather. For Toshiro is the prize he claimed. “I’m ignorant of the laws of Druid courtship.”

His arm is offered, wet with rain and gore. Armor gleaming under it all, gifted Uzumaki seals painted in lightning blue. 

“That’s okay,” Toshiro takes it anyway, and vines curl around their connected limbs, peonies spilling from his flesh. “I shall teach you, husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mythology au really hit different tho


	3. forever on my skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Flower shop & Tattoo shop AU / Dancing in the Rain. / “I...think I love you.” ( from [harpyjoy on tumblr.](https://harpyjoy.tumblr.com/) )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send in your own requests for Kakashi/Toshiro & Med-Nin Au's on my [tumblr!](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)

Yamanaka Flowers could not be described as anything other than quaint. Slim alleyways paved with mismatched cobblestone thread the spaces between the two buildings on either side. Both of them are taller, but crafted in a similar enough manner to keep up the woodsy aesthetic that permeates the district. Ivy crawls down the bleached wood, pruned and contained in a manner that suggests a stylistic choice rather than lack of care. The wide bay window is heavy with overflowing flower pots of all sizes and colors, almost entirely obscuring the view of the interior. To the right, under a pale blue awning, is the door. Frosted glass. Pull, not push; with a bell at the top to announce the presence of every customer. 

Toshiro has been working here for a year now. He’s a familiar face to the regulars, knows the ins and outs of the store with his eyes closed, and is one of two full-time employees currently on staff. The other is Yamato Tenzo, though he spends most of his time cultivating and treating the plants in the back room, as his personality can be off-putting on occasion. 

They got along well, however, and Tenzo is even dating the cousin of Toshiro’s best friend. It frequently draws them into the same circles even outside of work. 

“Did you hear?” Tenzo’s hands are stained with dirt, he’s sat upon a low stool with a large pot between his knees. His navy sleeves are rolled up, his pale purple apron marred with mud and grass stains. “The new parlor across the street opens next week.”

Toshiro pauses in his work, halfway through wrapping an order of roses. (How basic.) “You don’t strike me as the tattoo type.”

“I’m not.” The man starts, then pauses. His dark eyes trail to the side. “Well, I do have one.”

“You do?” That’s news to Toshiro. The plastic wrapping crinkles in his hands. “Planning on getting another one?”

“It’s not on my mind, no.” Tenzo replies, “But an old friend of mine is going to be working there.”

Toshiro carefully brushes the soft, fragile petals, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. He tastes salt and traces of the strawberry lip balm he’d applied earlier. “Sounds nice. Excited?”

The other man lets out a humored exhale, “That’s one word, I suppose.”

They fall into another moment of quiet. Toshiro finishes up the order and stores it for pick-up. It’s about four in the afternoon, mid-autumn. The days are shorter, the evenings creeping up on you faster and faster. Thick beams of orange light spill through the large bay window at the front of the store, casting a wild array of shadows across the entire interior. Yamanaka’s is by no means cluttered, but the tables and buckets on viewing display are crammed and artfully overflowing with flowers. From the ceiling hangs both flowering plants and glass ornaments, which catch in the sun and spill rainbows across the floor. 

“Ever thought about getting a tattoo?” Tenzo suddenly asks.

Toshiro purses his lips, “No, not really.”

* * *

Late fall is rain showers and thunderstorms, the clouds dark, angry gray and flashing with bursts of lightning. The wind almost tears the old, slightly bent umbrella right out of his hands. It’s a short walk from the parking lot to the store, but the stones are slick with rainwater and the wind tears so sharply at his clothes that it takes twice as long to get there. He’s quite thankful for the layers he’d heaped upon himself before leaving his apartment—the tan, knee-length raincoat is especially saving his ass right now, since the umbrella isn’t doing much against the wind-whipped rain. Tugging the hood lower over his brow, he grits his teeth and squints his eyes against the deluge. 

He’s only one street away when his luck runs out. With a snap, the wind turns his umbrella inside out. It startles him so greatly that he misses a step, foot slipping on slick cobblestone as he’s completely pelted with rain.  _ This is exactly what I need today, _ he thinks to himself as he pinwheels backwards. 

Though he braces for it, the pain never comes. Instead his impact is far less damaging—a sturdy chest and an arm around his waist. Toshiro grips the arm instinctively, taking a moment to regain his balance before looking up. And look up he does, for the man holding him is at least five inches taller.

“Sorry,” Toshiro yells over the sound of the storm, “Thank you!”

The man is soaked through, bundled in a dark jacket and a navy scarf pulled up over his nose. In the rain, under a blanket of clouds, the man’s hair is deep gray and plastered to his skull. A single obsidian eye stares back, lined with long, silver eyelashes. The other is covered with a patch, a slashing scar starting from his forehead and disappearing underneath. He’s a beautiful man, even with only a third of his face visible. Pale skin and a pretty eye, the visible bridge of his nose mostly straight—aside from a small bump that hints at a long healed break.

“No problem.” He replies, conveying a smile with the rise of his cheek and the curve of a closed eye. Water droplets cling to silvery lashes and slip down chill flushed skin. 

Toshiro blinks stupidly for a moment—then his wits come back to him. Freckled cheeks flush a deep rogue, pink gaze dropping demurely. He takes a step back, out the taller man’s grip. The gloved hand slips without prompting from his waist, burning a trail of fire even through Toshiro’s layers. Feeling awkward, he offers the man a nod, then hurries along to work, carefully watching his feet. Avoiding the rain is a lost cause, but at least the raincoat protects him from the worst of it. 

“What the hell?” Tenzo exclaims when Toshiro enters, the bell chiming loudly as he shuts the door.

“My umbrella broke,” Toshiro sighs, offering a wry grin. He surely looks like a drowned rat. Tenzo looks at the battered umbrella in his hand and huffs.

“Good thing we got a spare.”

* * *

In the chill of December, Toshiro slips on a patch of ice and careens into a snowbank. His face is encrusted with ice and snow, gloves soaked through as he pushes himself out. Mortification sits heavy in his chest, and he hopes very desperately that no one saw. Of course, it’s as he’s thinking this that he finally gets himself back to his feet and makes eye contact with a man across the street. Gravity-defying silver hair, powdered with the falling snow; a wide, amused eye, and the chime of surprised laughter. Toshiro blushes immediately, tugging his hat down over his brow and ears. The heat on his cheeks warms his face up quickly.

“Alright there?” The man calls.

“Fine!” Toshiro garbles, hurrying on his way.

He doesn’t look back.

* * *

“Have you been to that new tattoo parlor across the street?”

Toshiro hums absently. He’s busy arranging a bouquet for a customer that’s coming in later. Pink carnations, red salvia. The theme is love, of course.

Across from him, Yamanaka Inoka frowns. She snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Hey man! I’m tryna talk here.”

He blinks, focusing on her fingers and following the line of her arm up to her annoyed face. “Sorry, bit busy. What did you say?”

Inoka sighs, “The tattoo parlor. Have you been there yet?”

“No, why would I?” It’s not like he’s planning on getting a tattoo— “Wait, are you thinking about getting a tattoo?”

His friend shrugs, leaning against the counter and peering in the direction of the bay window. From here, she can just barely make out the tattoo shop between the flower pots. Toshiro follows her gaze. 

“I don’t know, maybe. I think I could pull it off.” She twirls around, “What do you think: flowers, stars, trashy romance one-liner? Maybe all three, if the tattoo artist is hot.”

Toshiro furrows his brow, “What? Why?”

She giggles, “Means spending more time up close and personal, ya know?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“If you really are looking to get a tattoo, Kakashi is the guy.” 

Both of them look up to see Tenzo standing in the doorway to the backroom, wiping his hands on an old towel. There’s a smudge of dirt across his nose. 

“Oh?” Inoka tilts his head, interested, “You got an  _ in _ with the tattoo guy, Tenny?”

The brunet frowns at the nickname, but doesn’t comment. He’s long since given up trying to get her to stop. “He’s an old friend of mine—a genius with anything he puts his mind to, tattoo art included.”

“Is he hot?”

Now Tenzo rolls his eyes, “I don’t know.”

“C’moooon,” she goads, “You’re a flower guy! You’re all about aesthetics and shit! It’s a simple question—”

“Inoka,” Toshiro interrupts. “If you want to know, just go look.”

“You know what, I will!” She smacks her palms on the counter and gifts them both with a defiant look. With a squeak of her heel on the tile floor, Inoka flounces out of the store.

Toshiro shares a glance with the other man.

“He’s disgustingly attractive.” Tenzo admits wryly.

Toshiro laughs.

* * *

The warmth of spring is a welcome change to the frequent bouts of snow that battered the town over winter. Green surges from the drab, waterlogged ground and the world is born anew. Pollen coats his car liberally, casting a yellow sheen over his windows and leaving ugly streaks after his short attempt at wiping it down. He’s sure some of it remains stuck in the lines of his skin, but doesn’t care much. After all, he’s going to be working with dirt in a bit, so the pollen is a step up. 

Just before the shop are two figures. Toshiro squints against the bright glare of the morning sun. Underneath its rays, his hair is alight and gleaming the palest of golds. He recognizes the two—Tenzo, and the man Toshiro frequently sees on the street. There’s no scarf to hide his face now, the day already too warm for anything more than a light jacket.

He  _ is _ a beautiful man, like Toshiro suspected. Pale lips pull into a smile as he talks, a little crooked, a little jagged. The scar that must slice through his patch-covered eye ends more than half-way down his cheek, twisting with the movements of his speech. There’s a beauty mark just below his lip, which draws Toshiro’s gaze to linger on the man’s mouth—and the flash of white teeth.

“Toshiro.” Tenzo greets.

He smiles at his coworker, then at the silver-haired man. “Tenzo. Who’s your friend?”

“Hatake Kakashi,” The one visible eye curves into a crescent shape, “It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Toshiro refuses to be embarrassed. Sure, this incredibly attractive man has seen him wipe out on more than one occasion—he probably has it in his head that Toshiro is a clumsy mess!—that doesn’t mean Toshiro is going to let it get to him. He holds out a hand and plasters a grin to his lips, mindful of the pollen dusting his fingertips. 

“Aikawa Toshiro,” he replies politely, lashes fluttering against freckled cheekbones, “It’s nice to officially meet you too. Are you the tattoo guy Tenzo’s mentioned?”

“That I am.” Kakashi takes his hand, and Toshiro suddenly feels like the temperature has risen upwards of ten degrees. A flush rushes to his winter-pale skin as their hands intertwine and hold for one, two, three—too many seconds too long. 

He gets lost in that one eye, in the unfairly long lashes that line the deepest, darkest abyss. Kakashi’s eye is actually a dark, bluish gray—it catches in the sun, the iris flashing with the dimmest of oceanic hues, so close to black it’s easy to mistake it as such. Inked shapes peek over the collar of his dark crewneck, and Toshiro is quite sure many more lay spread across the taller man’s skin, unseen.

Tenzo coughs.

The spell is broken, and Kakashi drops his hand, immediately stuffing it in his pocket and slouching. His lips twist into an awkward, wry expression. “So, Tenzo talks about me, huh? He talks about you a bit too.”

“Does he?” Toshiro bites his bottom lip to fight a bashful grin, rosy gaze sliding over to their mutual friend. Tenzo looks between them with a bizarre expression on his face, a shadow of doom slowly spreading over his eyes. “Only good things, I hope.”

“For the most part.” Kakashi grins, wide and broad and crooked. “He  _ did _ mention that you don’t have any tattoos, which is a black mark in my book. Got something against it?”

“Not  _ against it, _ I’m just fearful of regret.” Toshiro folds his hands together, trailing fingertips over his wrist. “I think the idea is beautiful—eternity on your flesh...I just don’t yet know what I want to keep forever.”

Kakashi’s eye flickers down to Toshiro’s hands, following the drowsy path of fingers across pale flesh. 

Tenzo coughs again. “ _ Anyway. _ I think we all have work to get to.”

“Right,” Toshiro shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the cloudy, cottony feel taking over. He’s not a teenager anymore, honestly! “Well, it was nice to meet a friend of Tenzo’s. You should stop by sometime.”

Kakashi has a dimple. It puckers slightly when he presses his lips together. “You as well.”

Tenzo’s gaze is heavy on his back when he enters Yamanaka’s. The tips of his ears burn hot.

(They don’t talk about it.)

* * *

As it turns out, they see a lot more of each other. Lunch hours are spent wandering cobblestone streets, lazily under afternoon sunshine or frantically through heavy downpours. It starts a little slow, a little awkward—both of them tentatively reaching out for common ground. But the atmosphere between them warms with every lunch break they spend together. They can sit in silence, or discuss their favorite books. Kakashi will try to tempt Toshiro into getting a tattoo. Toshiro will bashfully deny it and turn the topic to something else.

Though he attends the first few lunches with them, Tenzo very quickly finds himself ‘the third wheel’ and stops coming. 

“Trust me,” The man says when Toshiro asks about it, “I’d much rather eat lunch alone than watch you two make moon eyes at each other.”

“W-We don’t make  _ moon eyes, _ Tenzo.”

“Sure.”

* * *

Kakashi has a sleeve of tattoos for each arm, trailing up his deltoids and curling over his shoulders to lick at his collarbones. His entire back is a canvas of ink. Toshiro has never seen it, as Kakashi tends to cover up. He’s told about them, though. Briefly, and without much detail. They’re like little secrets on Kakashi’s skin, shown only to those who earn it. (Or to whoever can get under the man’s clothes.)

_ Bad Toshiro. Bad thoughts. _

Kakashi likes dogs. He has a picture in his wallet of a pile of them—eight, to be exact—all his, all wearing little vests that he’d hand-sewn himself. There’s almost always dog hair to be found on his dark clothes, along with the subtle scent of metal and ozone. He has two best friends that are dating each other, and another who teaches martial arts at the dojo down the street. 

He hates sweet foods, preferring savory or bland flavors. Every lunch he ends up with a bowl of miso, along with saury or salmon nigiri. If he’s forced to get ice cream he gets vanilla or coffee, and laughs at the disgusted face Toshiro makes whenever he eats the latter. He can cook rice and not much else, though he can follow a recipe easily enough. 

His favorite activity is, if not designing tattoos, reading various erotic novels. Which he’s perfectly fine toting around in public—he’ll even discuss them without care for the narrowed eyed gazes of old ladies. He takes great pleasure in making Toshiro flush bright red.

Toshiro learns a lot about Kakashi. Learns that he loves thunderstorms, barely owns any clothes that aren’t black and can’t drive. His favorite color is blue, he once owned a goldfish named  _ God of Thunder _ , and he wears socks with sandals unironically. He has three pairs of crocs in three different shades of blue and he cried watching Big Hero 6.

In return, Kakashi learns all about Toshiro.

Learns that Toshiro’s favorite color is red, he likes sweet and salty foods and he once listened to the entire Frozen soundtrack on replay for four days straight. He’s never had any pets, he’d almost become a Doctor, and his favorite thing to do is watch cat videos on a rainy day. He can identify almost every flower with a single glance and knows way too much about trees. (Though not nearly as much as Tenzo.)

“What about a bouquet?” 

Toshiro blinks the sun from his rosy gaze and glances over at the other man seated beside him. The bench is warm, heated by a summer sun. His skin feels pleasantly hot, but soon the temperature will become unbearable. “For what?”

Kakashi takes a long sip of water, the bags under his eyes even more pronounced than usual. “A tattoo.”

“You’re still on that?” Toshiro smiles softly, more bemused than annoyed. He likes watching Kakashi’s gaze dart from his lips to his eyes—like the taller man thinks he’s being discreet.

“It’ll happen one day.” Kakashi replies easily. A promise. 

Toshiro exhales through his nose, laughter in the back of his throat, “Maybe.”

They’re quiet for a few more moments.

“Gillyflower.” Kakashi says suddenly.

It’s a game they’ve taken to play, where the silver-haired man calls out a random flower and urges Toshiro to reply with the meaning.  _ Proof, _ Kakashi had said as an excuse,  _ I want to know if you really memorized everything. _ Silly, really. But oddly sweet, in the way expected things are. They’ve crafted a norm in their relationship that Toshiro has come to appreciate and look forward to with every interaction they have.

“Happy life and everlasting beauty,” he quips, winking at Kakashi, “Try harder next time.”

The other man only smiles, pretty and crooked.

* * *

The shop smells of too many flowers, bright, popping scents that coalesce into something earthy and ethereal. Toshiro’s hair is tied into a tight bun, champagne strands framing his face and brushing freckled cheekbones with every slight turn of his head. There’s a blue violet tucked in his ear, the petals soft against his temple.

Kakashi leans against the counter, sketching something in a ratty notebook that’s seen better days. There’s a pug keychain hanging off his belt, a set of electric blue crocs on his feet, and a black medical mask pulled down under his chin. He’s focused, eye on the paper before him and completely oblivious to the way Toshiro’s been tracing the bulge of his biceps with every slight movement of his hand. 

Tenzo is not oblivious. In fact he’s very exasperated and won’t stop leveling increasingly deadpan looks at Toshiro over Kakashi’s head. 

“Don’t you have your own business?” Tenzo mutters.

Kakashi hums, “I certainly do.”

“Then shouldn’t you be getting back to it?”

The brown-haired man is gifted with a brief eye-smile, before Kakashi proceeds to completely ignore him. “Toshiro, what’s the meaning of Gardenias?”

Toshiro wipes the counter for the fifteenth time and swallows down the dryness that settled in his throat. “Depends on the color, but the general meaning is purity, love, positive energy….” He swallows again. “Attraction.”

Kakashi licks his lips and doesn’t look up from whatever he’s sketching. “The red one?”

“I love you, in secret.” 

The pen in Kakashi’s hands jerks slightly, and a soft flush settles over the pale apples of Kakashi’s cheeks. “And the white?”

“Purity of love...peace and harmony. All that good stuff.” Toshiro bites his lip when Kakashi finally glances up. Their eyes meet and hold, the silence growing long and heavy between them until it seems to gain a physical form. He feels his heartbeat in his throat.

Tenzo sighs gustily. “Can you leave already?”

* * *

It feels like whenever it rains, Kakashi always manages to witness Toshiro wipe out. The slick stones under his feet are conspiring against him. He suffers the clumsy embarrassment of falling on his ass a block away from the store, his hood slipping off his head and allowing rain to soak his hair and slip down the back of his shirt. He splutters uselessly and heaves himself carefully to his feet, arms out for balance. 

Kakashi catches his pinwheeling arms and pulls him up, laughing directly in Toshiro’s ear. 

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Toshiro grumbles, telltale flush gracing his freckled cheeks. “See if I offer you a hand when it’s you falling flat on your ass.”

“I think I’ll live. Fortunately, I’m not clumsy.”

Toshiro clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “It’s the rain!”

Kakashi smiles like he’s doing Toshiro a favor, “Sure.”

They walk the rest of the way in quiet, the rain thundering down around them, smiles on their mouths and warmth in their hearts.

Before they part to their separate stores, Kakashi nudges Toshiro with an elbow. “I have something for you later, at lunch.”

“Oh?” Toshiro inquires, but gets no response. Only a faint grin and the curve of Kakashi’s visible eye. A pale, slender finger presses to his crooked smile.

“It’s a secret.”

* * *

It’s still raining when lunch comes around, condensation heavy on the windows. Inside the shop is warm, the heater chugging away to combat the chill of a dreary, early autumn. Toshiro tugs his jacket on and pulls his hood over his brow before heading out. The wind isn’t too bad, so he’s not worried about being smacked in the face with icy water. He trudges across the street, careful on the slick cobblestones. He’s not looking to trip  _ again. _

He’s so busy looking down at his feet, he bumps right into Kakashi. The man stands at the entrance to his tattoo shop, hands stuffed in his pockets and a lazy grin on his face. He has his hood pulled up as well, but rain still drips off his nose and curves around his smirking lips. 

“You always get so focused on one thing at a time. It’s why you trip so often.”

Toshiro flushes and clears his throat. “No, I trip because the world is out to get me.”

“Clearly.”

Inside the tattoo shop, the walls are covered in posters and art and spray paint, and it smells faintly of a pumpkin spice and rubbing alcohol. There’s a candle lit by the reception desk—the source of the pumpkin scent. Everything is a great contrast to the earthy, vintage aesthetic of the flower shop. 

“Chrysanthemum.”

Toshiro glances back at Kakashi, shaking out his coat. “Hm? Oh...nobility. Purity….and, uh,  _ Trust me. _ ”

“Hm,” the other man hums and says nothing more.

They settle down for lunch, tucked away in Kakashi’s office. There’s a beanbag in the corner that they both inevitably end up on, shoulder to shoulder and elbow to elbow. Kakashi’s ozone scent in Toshiro’s nose, and strands of Toshiro’s hair caught under Kakashi’s weight. 

“What did you have to show me?” He asks, licking away a smudge of ketchup on his finger. He’s almost worked his way through the pile of fries that came with his food order. “I can see it now, right?”

“Yeah,” Kakashi replies, dark eye shifty. He looks nervous, fingers tapping on his knee and a soft pink flush rising to his cheekbones. His own food has already been eaten, the remaining trash is in his lap, some napkins and a rolled up ball of aluminum foil that once contained a burger. “Been working on it for a while and I finally finished it. It’s nothing special, I guess.”

He plops his trash in Toshiro’s lap and gets up, making his way over to his desk. Kakashi picks up a familiar sketchbook, one Toshiro sees him working on constantly. Not once has Toshiro actually seen inside, however. 

Kakashi falters at his desk, rocking back on forth on his heels like he’s debating the weight of the world. His long, slender fingers flip open the sketchbook and peruse through the pages before settling on one. He taps the paper for a moment, before glancing over at Toshiro and angling the book so that Toshiro can see.

“Well, I said it’s not special. But…”

Toshiro stares.

Flowers come to life across the page, blooming out of thick, organic lines of ink like a daisy pushing through a concrete sidewalk. Watercolor splashes through the work of art like it’s been spilled. Gardenias, Camellias, Sakurasous, Peach flowers, red Salvia, sprigs of Lavender and Purple Crocus. There’s so much love on a single page of paper, so artfully and masterfully conveyed in every curve and line.

“It’s beautiful…” He manages to say, captivated.

“It’s for you. So, I guess it  _ is  _ special.” 

This snaps him out of his daze. “What? You—You’re giving it to me?” Well, he certainly wouldn’t mind framing it in his house!

“As a tattoo. I drew it for you. You said you could never decide on a tattoo because you thought you might regret it.” Kakashi clears his throat, the sketchbook still held open between them. “Well. I drew you something permanent. Something forever.” He coughs a little like his throat has closed up and the words won’t come. 

Toshiro feels his ears burn scarlet, feels the heat off his own cheeks. It truly is a beautiful work of art. He doesn’t know what to say. All of those flowers represent such love—such intensity and wonder and emotion. It’s art meant to evoke a feeling; it’s practically screaming it.

_ I drew you something permanent. Something forever. _

His alarm goes off, shattering the silence. Toshiro flinches and Kakashi snaps his sketchbook shut, a flinty, desperate look in his eye. Like he’s running. Toshiro doesn’t want those walls to crash back down. 

The trash is disposed of, and Kakashi walks Toshiro to the door. He steps back outside into the pounding rain, the sky still a dark canopy of drab gray. The cold is another shock to his overly warm skin. The air hangs awkwardly between them.

Toshiro isn’t stupid. He’s pretty sure he knows what Kakashi is trying to say. But dammit, if the older man isn’t stunted as all hell! He takes a few steps out into the rain, hood down and letting the water wash over his brow and cheeks. Then he sets his jaw and whirls back around.

And slams right into Kakashi’s chest.

They don’t move away, their bodies close enough to feel each other’s heat. A faintly familiar rock song floats out from the slightly cracked open door to the tattoo shop. The words are impossible to hear over the pounding of the rain. It’s not a song for dancing.

“Dance with me.”

Kakashi blinks down at him, startled and confused. Toshiro doesn’t let him think too long. He grasps the taller man’s hands in his own and pulls, until they’re both out in the open rain, feet sliding along wet stones. They twirl without much grace, clumsy and without much rhythm because they’ve moved too far away from the door to hear the music over the rain, and both have chosen a different tempo.

Toshiro laughs as they stumble, hair plastered to his skull. He thinks of flowers and the sharp flash of Kakashi’s teeth behind his lips. He lets the heat of his feelings warm him against the flood of chill and rain. Kakashi’s hands slip against his, their feet trample over each other’s. Kakashi’s laugh can be felt, shaking his chest even as it disappears in the air. 

“I’ll do it.” He says.

Kakashi stops, and they stumble a little to catch their balance. “What?”

“I’ll get that tattoo. The one you made for me.” The one that says  _ my love for you is forever, _ the one that Kakashi poured his heart into. Toshiro stares up at Kakashi, refusing to look away. He pulls his hands from Kakashi’s and trails them up, up, up to cup the other man’s jaw, tangling in soaked silver strands. “Forever on my skin.”

Kakashi exhales sharply, fingers curling in Toshiro’s wet jacket. “I...think I love you.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Toshiro laughs, and he feels like a shaken soda, all bubbly and ready to explode. “I love you, too. So please, never make me regret this.”

“Never.” Kakashi replies—promises, as prettily and sure as his hand on paper. “It’s permanent.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send in your own requests for Kakashi/Toshiro & Med-Nin Au's on my [tumblr!](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [tumblr](%E2%80%9C) for art stuff, questions, and to make requests!


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